Chapter Eighteen

C hapter E ighteen

I t was time for them to leave Hal and John's home, and Hal was currently gushing with Lucy over the gooseberry pie at Miss Masters's School like the two of them had attended together or something.

Hunter groaned in faux agony and looked at John with the most longsuffering expression he could manage, making his brother-in-law chuckle.

Truth be told, it was one of the most heartwarming things he had ever seen for his sister to connect with Lucy in this way. It meant more than he knew how to express for them to be friends, to genuinely like one another, to not require him as a buffer or their mutual connection.

Why it meant so much was hard to explain. Lucy could never be in his personal life, in truth. He could not have a personal life, in truth. But it didn't stop him from feeling this way, and it did not stop him from enjoying whatever time he had with her. Perhaps Hal was right, and he should stop fighting everything he felt for Lucy, if for no other reason than to see where it would lead.

And how it might end.

He snorted to himself softly as Lucy went to bid John farewell with a polite curtsy and a few words. How it would end. He knew how it would end. With her entering her father's house and him standing outside of it for far too long, wondering what had become of his life and what he was meant to do now.

Idiot.

"Now, should you wish to practice," John was saying, pulling a folded paper out of his waistcoat, "I've composed a few more for you. Do you remember the key from earlier?"

Lucy smiled brightly and nodded like a child, taking the paper from him. "Yes, sir. Same rules?"

"Yes, same rules. I think you'll enjoy it." He bowed, smiling in a way that John rarely did.

Hunter looked between them in confusion, taking in the phrases and words on the paper in Lucy's hand, then glared at his brother-in-law swiftly as the realization hit him. "You taught her about ciphers?"

John and Lucy turned to him in surprise, Lucy with wide eyes and John with smugness. "I did," he confirmed with a lift of his chin. "The tour of our house did not take very long, and luncheon was not prepared, so she asked me what I did for work. A curious and quick mind is a dreadful thing to waste."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "Save the sermon, Socrates. I can't believe you did that. You know better!" He turned to Hal and took the copies of her drawings with a quick snatch before planting a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. "I'll send you a note when there's something to tell. The usual way. And congratulations again. Truly, I'm delighted for you. Let me know how you get on."

"I will," Hal murmured, her brow furrowing as she scowled defensively on behalf of her husband.

Hunter wouldn't explain himself, nor would he ask for forgiveness. John should know the problems with doing what he had done, and it wasn't down to Hunter to spell it out. Still, he shook the man's hand anyway and nodded to Thad as he and Lucy left the house, her carpetbag now in Hunter's hand instead of her own.

The least he could do was carry her bag while they were together.

"Where are we going now?" Lucy asked in a small voice as they reached the end of the block.

Deuce take it. He didn't mean to upset her with his yelling at John. It wasn't her fault that he had a fascinating career, and she had a curious mind. Honestly, if Hunter's skills had been something less dangerous, he might have done exactly the same as John if she'd asked him. He'd have had a completely different motivation, but he would have done it. Lucy was just not someone to refuse, no matter who you were.

"Hunter?"

He smiled down at her, hoping she'd believe it was genuine. That he was genuine. "I was thinking about St. James's Park."

"I thought you said Hyde Park at breakfast," she ventured slowly.

"I did," he affirmed, amused that she had heard that while she had been so focused on ignoring him. "But I think Tilda is right, and that would be a bit of a risk, considering your station. St. James's Park, on the other hand, is less popular as a location for promenades. Would that put you in circles with people who know you well enough to embarrass you?"

Lucy wrinkled up her nose a little. "I don't think so. My father and I aren't particularly social creatures, in that respect. And dressed like this, no one would give me a second look anyway. But isn't St. James's Park out of the way?"

Hunter shrugged. "It's been some time since you've seen anything green. Well, anything that's meant to be green, anyway. What's a stroll through the park on our way to Poplar?"

"Poplar? What's in Poplar?" Her tone was brighter already, and he loved it. Loved the sound of it, love the melody of it, loved the tone of it…

"Our accommodations for the night," he said hastily, clearing his throat. "Supper included. Good beds and all." He managed a quick grin. "Perhaps not as good as Tilda's, but nevertheless…"

"I've never had beds as good as Tilda's," Lucy gushed in a way that made him laugh. "She's full of secrets and finery she shouldn't be able to afford. Not to mention the airs she likes to pretend she has. She could fit in anywhere she might please, and no one would be any the wiser, or give her any bother."

Hunter considered that with a crooked smile. "I think she has done that, actually. Probably a number of times. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she were to flit among the classes for her own amusement. It could actually explain at least half of her stories if she did that."

They both laughed and continued to amble their way towards St. James's Park. Hunter thought about showing their drawings to those they saw, but he wasn't certain anymore. Oh, if they saw people who wouldn't compromise him or give rise to gossip for Lucy, he would certainly do so, but he wouldn't be displaying it for all to see. That would only call attention to them, and likely not serve them in any way.

It was out of their way, admittedly, and quite blatantly in the wrong direction. But he wanted to go for a stroll in a beautiful part of the city with her while he still had the chance. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? Hal's drawings were just as skilled as he'd expected and hoped, so he had no doubt they would begin to get answers tomorrow. Tonight, if he tried hard enough.

But he wasn't going to.

Did that make him a villain?

Heaven help him, but he did not care.

For the first time in their short but intense association, Hunter chose to engage Lucy in random conversation. Personal conversation, even. Chatting like he might have done with a friend, if not a girl he was courting. He'd never actually gotten around to courtship during his years in Society, so he had little enough experience to call upon, but his years as an operative had him play the courtier or suitor often enough. The only difference was that he was not seeking any particular information with her. He was not attempting to steer the conversation in any direction. He had no ulterior motives.

All he wanted was to know more about her and to spend more time with her.

And he wanted to know everything.

Anything.

And walking towards the park in her company might have been as good as walking the actual park, in his eye. It forced them to spend that length of time in either silence or conversation, and so long as he avoided provoking her into silence again, Lucy clearly preferred conversation. Hunter had heard enough about her father on their walks, and he now considered that topic practically professional, so he'd do everything he could to avoid it.

He wanted to know about her mother and her childhood. Her passions and her fears. Her extended family and her happier home. Her hopes and dreams and wishes, her favorite foods, her least favorite books, her thoughts on flowers…

He'd have listened to her talk about the care and upkeep of half-lame horses, if that were something she liked.

This walk didn't have anything to do with substance or aims or duty; it was entirely about being.

And being with her.

Hunter almost never talked about himself, given his occupation and the hazards therein, but he found himself answering Lucy's questions as freely as she was answering his. Things he'd nearly forgotten about himself were suddenly forefront in his mind; rose-colored memories faint with age now restored to their former brilliance, and his tastes and preferences, so often pushed aside for a cause, now spoken aloud for her ears alone. It ought to have given him pause or at least given him some sense of vulnerability, but instead, he only felt renewed and invigorated.

He might not need a great deal of time to know how he felt about her. At this rate, he'd be stealing a handkerchief and keeping it next to his heart before they had supper, and he couldn't even laugh at the ridiculousness of the prospect.

Because it wasn't ridiculous. He was well and truly on his way to…

To becoming…

Something.

The lack of insight into his own feelings and the words to describe them was as frustrating as the feelings themselves. He was too jaded, too callous, too worldly to be as sentimental as he was beginning to feel, and his suspicions over the confusion were simply his natural reaction as an operative. It was probably heading towards love, if he were to look at it from a rational point of view, but was love simply a shade of obsession? And was obsession nothing more than a passionate, insatiable curiosity? What was the wholesome, soul-filling version of love that his sister was clearly living in with her husband? What was it that made love matches that were sustainable and not simply a lusty whim?

Should he ever decide to make a love match, of course.

Which was unlikely, given his profession and his nature.

But he wished to know anyway. Just in case.

The park was quiet and calm when they reached it, as he suspected it would be, given how the hour approached the evening. Those in Society would be preparing for their various evening outings and activities, and the middle and lower classes, if they were in the area, would need to begin making preparations for their supper. Which made it the perfect time for a couple to meander at their leisure if they did not wish to be particularly observed or interrupted.

Not that he and Lucy were a couple, of course. It was simply a phrase. A description of their numbers, as it were. Nothing to indicate any sort of intimacy or intent.

Blimey, he was tripping over himself in his own mind. Was that a normal thing for a man befuddled by a woman to do?

This was where years of working alone and sticking to strictly professional associations became a hindrance. He literally had no one he could turn to with questions such as these, seeing as they were particularly personal, embarrassing, and had the potential to leave one feeling especially stupid. Was there anyone in the world with whom he had ever been willing to lower himself in such a way?

His twin did not count; she was a woman, after all. It was different for a man.

He thought.

Couldn't be sure, which was why he needed to ask a man. A happily married one.

Which limited the numbers considerably.

But what was he doing wasting this precious time in his own head? He could overthink every aspect of this outing later tonight, likely when he was trying to sleep. He really should be paying more attention to what Lucy was saying now and how she was enjoying this walk in the park.

He forced himself to step out of his own thoughts and look at Lucy with the barest turn of his head, needing to make it appear as though he was not looking at her. She wasn't actually saying anything at the present, which was a relief, as he would have had to beat himself up if he had missed something she had been confiding. She was looking at the trees to her left, devoid of any leaves in this winter weather, but not yet frost-tipped or covered with ice. They were rather barren, but in her eyes, it would appear there was something of beauty.

What was she seeing that made her lips curve in that very faint smile, her full lips spreading just enough to be more tempting? What could an arid park, with faintly green grass but no flowers, have to be smiled at? He ought to have remembered the season when he suggested the park, but seasons were a trifle lost on him in the underbelly of the city. It was warm or it was cold, it was raining or it was fair, but the state of plants and such were irrelevant to his life. And now, when he wanted some beautiful piece of the world to share with Lucy, he only had this winter-wasted space.

It was simply not fair.

"I suppose we should be grateful it is not snowing," Hunter said without need, glancing around them with a bit of a frown. "I was hoping it would not look so dead for us."

"It isn't dead," Lucy murmured gently. Far more gently than he would have expected, given the usual manner in which she expressed herself. "It's going dormant. Just sleeping while the world cannot support its natural strength and beauty. Haven't you had times when you've kept silent because you could not speak? When you weren't seen because you were not at your best? When you were supposed to be blooming but felt frozen by frost?"

Hunter stared at Lucy without any hint of shame now, blatant and curious and marveling. "I don't know," he heard himself say, his voice sounding distant somehow. "I've never really thought about it. But you have, I see."

Lucy nodded slowly, but no sign of pain or distress flicked across her features. There was only serenity and acceptance. "I've felt dormant and asleep for ages now. So long that I began to be unsure of who I was. What I was. What I wanted, what I was allowed to want. And I only wanted to be seen in spite of being dormant."

"I see you," Hunter whispered, the words ripped from his chest with shocking force.

Her eyes slid to him, not quite meeting his. "I know. That is what has been confusing me all this time. How could you possibly see me when we have only had two days together? When we lead such different lives? When we only met because of some random attempted crime? But you've seen me from the first, and it's the most peculiar thing."

"Yes, it is," Hunter agreed with a smile, delighted that she was aware of his attention, even if she might not know the whole of it. "You should try feeling it, seeing you. Most bizarre."

She jabbed him in the side with her elbow, surprisingly swift and sharp, and he wheezed a laugh at it. "The point is," she went on firmly, "that I have made a point of finding the beauty in the dormant and sleeping for myself. Perhaps one day, I may actually see it in myself, if I practice well enough."

Hunter's amusement faded, and he now stared at Lucy as though she had actually lost her senses. He knew better than to speak of such a thing, given his history of saying things that irked her when he did not think, but the urge to cut her off and correct her was overwhelming.

Could she really not see herself? She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, if not the most. The fact that she was intelligent and quick-witted only made her that much more attractive, and her refreshing way of speaking and looking at the world? She was an exquisite creature, and the only other ways to describe her would be artistic and flowery, poetic and abstract, which were probably not ways she would wish to be described.

Lucy glanced at him, and something in his expression made her eyes dart to the ground. "What?"

Hunter cleared his throat. "What? I'm just… I just…"

"You disapprove of something. I can see it." She exhaled shortly and folded her arms. "You can tell me."

"I disapprove," Hunter said slowly, "of the way you see yourself now. But I understand our tendency to believe what we are consistently told, and further than that, to believe the worst that we hear instead of the best that we hear. That is human nature. And I am trying very hard to not give you a compliment paired with an insult. Again."

Lucy snickered a laugh, which relieved some of the tension he was feeling at the base of his spine and in the center of his chest. "I appreciate such effort."

He smiled at her quip, hoping he was at least walking in the right path with his words so far. "Allow me to say, at least… that I hope you continue practicing. Because it would be for the best if you could see yourself with all of the beauty that the rest of us already see."

There. That ought to be succinct enough.

Lucy said nothing as they continued to walk, and with her attention facing forward, Hunter could not know what emotions were playing across her features.

There was no angry tick of a muscle in her jaw. The color in her cheek was not rising. Her lips were pressed together, but they were not turning white or causing any strain. If there was any angst or distress in her face, he was not catching it from his view. Her breathing had not changed, and there were no tears at hand.

For someone whose emotions were as much a part of her face as they were a part of her soul, the complete lack of insight into her present state was actually maddening for Hunter.

Had he upset her even more by saying something sincere? Had he put too much distance between himself and the statement? Had he said too much?

"I don't know what to say to that," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But my heart is beating so fast, I cannot even swallow."

Right, he'd forgotten about her frankness.

Now his cheeks were the ones destined to be turning red. He could feel the heat of them stretching into his ears.

He had made her pulse race by what he had said.

He was tempted to pick up her wrist to feel for the thundering she described there. Why, he couldn't say. But something in him wanted to have that frantic pacing against his skin. His own pulse was skittering like a colt over the hills now, and the more he thought about hers, the worse it got.

This could not last. They could not do this, whatever it was. If they were doing anything. Perhaps it was just him, and Lucy was reacting with discomfort to his honesty. It was entirely possible that all of this was only on his part, and he was seeing what wasn't there. Or what he wished to be there.

He could not afford to do that.

Clearing his throat, he looked above them at the sky, pretending to only now notice the shift in position of the sun. "Perhaps we should catch a hack to Poplar. We want to get there before they stop serving supper, after all."

"That's a good idea." Lucy's voice was clipped and careful, rather like his had been. "Will you… will you have something to do for your assignment tonight?"

That was almost too careful, and it was that particular tone that made him determined to be as honest as possible.

"Yes," he confessed as they left the park and moved towards the street. "But it won't take long. In fact, I'll be seeing Briar again, I think."

Lucy's lips curved a little. "Give her my regards and my thanks. Perhaps you'll actually get to discuss what you were supposed to the night you met me."

"Perhaps." He watched up and down the street for a hack, waving one down eventually with two fingers.

"Do you regret your intervention that night?" Lucy asked him as the hack slowed. "It kept you from whatever your business was, after all."

Hunter looked at her in sheer disbelief, stunned when her face showed complete sincerity and a touch of insecurity. "How can you even ask me that? No, I don't regret it." He walked her over to the hack and helped her in before turning to the driver. "Ye Olde Wharf, Poplar."

"Aye, sir," the driver called back as Hunter climbed in. He snapped the reins, and the hack started off again with a jolt.

"I don't mean you wouldn't have done a good deed anyway," Lucy said over the sound of the rollicking wheels. "I mean… I just…"

Hunter exhaled a short breath. "I don't care what you mean, quite honestly. Was it an inconvenience? No. Did it ruin my assignment? No. Have you been an inconvenience to have constantly around? Sure, a little, given what I could have gotten done for my assignment, but if I were to regret that, I would have to regret my own sister, and that would mean regretting my life itself. I don't regret having you in my life, Lucy, nor almost constantly in my presence. My only regret is that your father doesn't deserve to have you back, but I cannot do anything about that, can I?"

Lucy's eyes widened and she looked out of the window, her throat tightening visibly. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you sorry for?" Hunter demanded, already frustrated with what the future held for her, and consequently, for him. "You haven't done anything to apologize for."

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice sounding stretched and thin, making him want to take her in his arms, for some bizarre reason. "For asking. For making you think about it. For whatever has made you so irritated."

"I am not—damn it." He plucked his hat off and ran a hand over his hair, forcing his breath to steady and willing his temper to subside. "Lucy… I cannot get into the details and reasons as to why I am reacting the way that I am. I just can't. It is probably uncalled for, and being with Hal and John today already set me on edge, even though I enjoyed myself. I cannot explain that either. You deserve explanations, and I cannot give them. So for that, I am apologizing. But nothing—and I'll repeat for your silly ears, nothing—of my present mood is due to action or fault of yours. In fact, any recent good mood of mine has been due to you."

Those impossibly dark eyes of hers, darker now than ever before, returned to him with a light of hope that almost stripped him bare of defenses. "Really?"

A lump formed in Hunter's throat, preventing him from an eager answer, so he only nodded. Several times.

Lucy cocked her head, her expression turning almost scolding but still playful. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Only the playful aspect saved her from his frustration, and that seemed to clear his throat enough to speak. "I rarely say things just to make people feel better, and I'm also not that pleasant of a person, usually. I'd invite you to speak to people who've known me, but that wouldn't be wise."

"I know Hal and Tilda," she pointed out.

Hunter snorted a very soft laugh. "They don't count."

"Tilda would have said if you were cantankerous."

"Not when she likes cantankerous," he countered.

"Hal is your sister."

He ought to have been taken aback, but he supposed he had left enough unintentional hints, and Hal had behaved in enough of a way to make it clear. He felt himself smiling.

"How long have you known?"

Lucy shrugged her narrow shoulders, her smile sweet. "I suspected before we ever left the house. Your eyes crinkle in exactly the same manner, and the way she was so angry with you for risking yourself… It was very protective. And the way she spoke about you when we were alone…"

"Oh, hell," he grumped, "what did she say now?"

"Ha!" Lucy cackled, falling back against her seat slightly as she clapped her hands, giggling almost uncontrollably. "Nothing! It was all lovely and very sweet."

"Then you were not speaking with my sister," he assured her, grinning crookedly.

"Sweet and honest," Lucy went on, shaking her head, still giggling a little. "So I knew. But still, she didn't say you were always grumpy, or anything like that."

It was his turn to give her a derisive look, though his smile remained. "You really expect my sister to tell you about my nature upon your first meeting? And besides, she doesn't see me that often. My mood almost never comes out in letters, and those are in code anyway."

She brightened at that and sat up, leaning forward. "Does John help decipher them?"

Hunter groaned. "No, and I'm not talking about codes and ciphers with you. I'm still irritated about that."

"Why?" she demanded. "What's wrong with learning that skill?"

He launched into an unnecessary and longwinded explanation about his reasons that served absolutely no purpose but to make time pass in a way that wouldn't make either of their pulses pound. He even claimed that ciphers were positively useless for those who did not work in some sort of criminal field, while Lucy countered that it could be a bit of amusement for those writing letters to each other, and possibly even romantic, if one were so inclined.

It was a good argument, he would concede, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from the debate. And there was some great delight in debating with Lucy, who held her own with firmness and calm, a composure that some of his fellow operatives would have envied. If she could tell he was intentionally wasting time, she made no sign of it, for which he was grateful.

All in all, upon reflection, it probably wasn't dreadful that she had learned something about ciphers. The only thing Hunter truly minded was John being the one to teach her, given it was John's specialty in the covert world. Not that Lucy would necessarily recognize that, but still.

Protecting her from the dangers of their world was of the utmost importance now, which meant protecting their own identities and assignments as much as possible.

He should have denied that Hal was his sister, but it was too late for that now. He would simply have to keep a sharper focus on what else was revealed so Lucy's keen eyes and quick mind had nothing more to snatch up.

Easier said than done.